With my stained mind
by lieze
Summary: Insanity eats into an assassin's mind. Hope you enjoy it~ ^_^ R


Standard Disclaimers apply.  
=================================  
Title: With my stained mind  
  
[- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ]  
Her blood stained my white shirt and black tie. It was a crimson red, the salty blood, and it was alive. It flowed endlessly from her throat, where I had slashed her artery. And it seemed to overflow from the gash between her weak legs.  
  
Her blood was screaming at me.   
"Fuck you! And fuck all those like you! All of you are gonna rot in hell!"  
  
I covered my ears desperately. Itai... It was painful. The high-pitched shrieks from this red fluid. I could hear it again....all the profanities aimed straight at me. No one else except me was meant to hear those horrible words.   
  
I could see them.   
The scarlet hands emerging from the opague, red pool. The hands turned into sharp claws, with nails longer than anything, reaching out for me, grabbing my legs, my own hands, my chest, my face... No matter how hard I tried to run away, when I opened my eyes filled with tears, I was always still at that same place. In front of her corpse.  
Red marks remained where those vengeful hands had gripped ever so tightly.   
  
I wanted so badly to scream. But there is never any voice in anyone's throat...at a time like this.  
  
"Koroshita..."  
  
I muttered silently under my breath.  
  
I could feel it. The hatred for me.  
The hatred that was also in her blood. It seeped through my skin, like through a sieve, and overwhelmed me. Overpowered my own existence.   
Even though I hardly existed.  
Enveloping my body, it morphed into a raging flame, but a bitter cold emersed from it.  
  
I wanted so badly to cuddle somewhere safe; somewhere warm. But there will never be a home for someone like me to return to...at a time like this.  
  
This woman hardly knew me, and I hardly knew her, but yet...I had obviously taken her life. She never would have guessed who had sent me to deliver her to Paradise. With her lime green eyes, she had begged for me to let her go. Her face was dirty, from what, I never knew, but it was mud-like- as if she had been living in fear for so long, that she could not bear to do anything; not even to take a bath.   
Maybe she never dared to return home, I don't know....I never will.  
  
He had told me she was petrified...because of another man.   
"Her husband, " he said. "The damned bitch thinks her husband wants to kill her 'cause of this affair between the two of us." And then there was an evil cackle. "She'll never find out, that whore..."  
And then there was another evil cackle.   
  
"Kill her. Tonight."  
  
That's right. It was at night when I had handed her over to the world of lost souls. The moon...usually round and bright, was hardly visible that night. It had been so quiet...so dark...such that I never saw her face, and neither did she see mine.  
  
Such that I never saw that she was actually pregnant.   
Until the clouds cleared for me, and presented me with a gift I would never want. Ever.  
  
There were so many thoughts in my head. There are so many thoughts in my head, still. A pregnant woman...I had taken two lives. How many months before her offspring would have been brought into this world? Does it even matter? Should I even care...?  
  
And her eyes, yes, her lime green eyes flash in my tired mind again. True, her eyes had pleaded with me for the few seconds before I slit her throat. But after that, there was no more feeling. No more emotion. It was just emptiness in her eyes. Emptiness in her heart. Emptiness in my heart. The lime from her eyes had been diluted, and a dirty green colour lingered around her dilated pupils. Slowly, but definitely, she raised her head slightly, and stared at her undertaker. There was nothing that she mumbled; nothing that she tried to say as her "last words".   
  
Only a glare that clubbed me with an impact that would never fade away.   
It hurt, the bruise that I had received from her stare. I could not see it and of course it never existed, but it still hurt. A kind of excruciating pain swirled around my head. From the bruise? Most likely, since I was not such a weakling to have been hurt by her wild thrashes as she struggled in my arms.  
  
Even though she was dead, her wrinkled face still spoke to me.   
"... ... ... ... ... ... ... .... ..... ...... ....... ........"  
  
The words her face expressed, I heard and felt, but could not understand.  
  
Then suddenly, another blow of uneasiness was hurled at me. I cringed in pain, and felt my whole stomach explode, but when I madly ripped my shirt apart, I found no wound. The queasy feeling made me want to throw up. I had never felt like this before, I was trained to withstand the stench. But with her...it was an entirely different encounter- an exceptionally painful torture.  
  
I hardly know her; in fact I don't even know her at all, but my mind is filled with images of her. And her baby. The both of them with their everlasting smiles- so pure and so innocent and so content. Against a picturesque background, with green trees, and a blue sky, with birds and butterflies flying freely around them. She cradles him in her soft arms, and he falls into a deep sleep, softly murmuring in his sweetest dreams.   
  
And then a man enters the scene. It is a silhouette and I cannot see his features. She calls out to him, and wakes her baby so that it can see what a wonderful father it has.   
  
But the baby doesn't wake up.   
In an instant, the picture-perfect scenery has vanished and so has the man. The baby is on the ground. With its eyes open, it crawls step by step, in search of its mother. All of a sudden, it trips over something, and falls, crying profusely though with no tears. The image is wiped by something as red as a robin's breast, and the baby is just falling and falling and....it never stops falling....   
  
There is a loud 'thud' as the baby finally hits the ground. I see it so clearly now- its limbs broken thoroughly, as if it was a cheap, wooden doll. Blood splatters everywhere, including my face, even though I am out of the picture. The blood seems to flow in meandering streams, and ultimately, they merge into one main river...leading straight to... ...   
  
I want to scream until I become deaf. I don't care about anyone anymore. I don't want anyone's comfort. I only want to scream and scream and scream and scream...  
...and the image is pulled back into my head. How could it be? I am sure I had pushed it away with all my strength. I don't want...iyada...I don't want to see...  
[the meandering streams merge into one main river and lead straight to the naked body of a woman. a deep gash stretches across her neck, and the blood has been almost drained through. an umbilical cord hangs out from an opening between her legs, and leads to a much smaller body with no limbs. strained laughter echoes through the frozen image. The laughter comes from two men, both holding wine glasses. as they drink, their bodies explode soundlessly, bloody organs lie randomly on the ground.]  
  
  
I am seriously going insane.  
She wasn't the first, and she will not be the last.  
I loathe being an assassin.   
  
-end- 


End file.
